The First Twelve Years
by WriteChristineR
Summary: Lorelai moved to Stars Hollow when she was seventeen, but didn’t meet Luke until eight years prior to “Written in the Stars.” What were they doing for the first twelve years?
1. November 18, 1985

Author's Note: I've always wondered why it took Lorelai and Luke so long to meet. Stars Hollow is small enough, you'd think they'd have at least known of one another. So what were they doing those twelve years that they lived in the same town without knowing it?The plan is to have each chapter represent a year, alternating points of view from Lorelai to Luke. Hope you like it!

The First Twelve Years

Chapter One

November 18, 1985

The sign read "Welcome to Stars Hollow." I'd never seen the sign before, or heard of Stars Hollow. That was a part of its charm. I knew as soon as I saw it that this was my stop. I don't know how to explain it, it just felt right. I picked up my things—a baby carrier containing my sleeping daughter and a suitcase just small enough to carry—and got off of the bus.

It really was the cutest little town that I had ever seen. I set down my bag and daughter in the middle of the town square. I was surrounded by shops, and in the center was a gazebo. "This is where we're going to live, Rory," I told my daughter. "What do you think?"

I looked into the baby carrier for Rory's response. She was asleep. Apparently I wasn't going to get much feedback from her. I wished that I could explore the town a little, but I had nowhere to leave my things, and lugging a huge suitcase around the town would not only look conspicuous, but would be rather inconvenient as well.

I wasn't sure what alternative I had. I really didn't know where I was or what I was going to do here. I needed a job and a place to stay. That had to be taken care of by the end of the day, but I didn't know how I could take care of it without first knowing what my options were.

For lack of anything better to do, I dragged my luggage to the nearest curb and started down the sidewalk. I shivered. It was mid-November, and too cold for the sweater I was wearing. I knew I had a heavier jacket in my suitcase, but going through my bag in the middle of the street would have been a little awkward. I cast around, and my gaze fell on the gazebo. It seemed as good a place as any.

Getting my bag and Rory up the gazebo steps proved a bit more challenging than I'd anticipated, but once I managed it I set my things on a bench in such a way that the possibility of anyone sitting on the bench was zero.

As I should have expected, I found that the jacket I was looking for seemed to be buried under everything else in my bag. By the time I found it, the contents of my suitcase were all over the bench. In my jacket-searching frenzy, I didn't notice the boy until he was right behind me.

He was a fairly nerdy-looking guy. He was wearing old jeans and a Star Trek t-shirt, and his hair was slightly unkempt. "Need help?" he asked me.

I was already exasperated, and his watching me wasn't helping. "Do I look like I need help?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied monosyllabically.

I threw several articles of clothing at him. "Hold these," I commanded. I didn't feel the need to be especially polite to this boy. I'd never see him again.

I stuffed random items back into my suitcase, and then turned around to get the rest of my things from him. In one arm he had several sweaters and pairs of pants. In his other hand, I noticed, he was holding one of my bras at arm's length. I noticed he was blushing, and didn't bother to suppress my laugh. I snatched it from him. "Oh come on," I said, still smiling. "You know you liked that."

His face turned a slightly deeper shade of red, and I made up my mind to stop abusing him. He was being nice, after all. As I took the rest of my clothing from him, I once again noted the Star Trek shirt and determined that some degree of verbal taunting was completely called for.

I managed to zip my suitcase after much persuading, but when I turned to thank the boy, I realized he was still holding one of my sweaters. I sighed. "Do you want to wear that?" I asked, exasperated. "Because there's no way I'm unzipping this thing again."

He raised his eyebrows, fully aware that this wasn't a real suggestion. "No," he said.

"Another monosyllable," I observed. "Talk much?"

As he ignored me, I took the sweater from him and laid it over my sleeping daughter as another blanket. "Hey," I asked him," "If I leave this stuff here for a little while, do you think anyone will take it?"

"You kidding me?" he asked rhetorically. "This is Stars Hollow." He stopped, as if this answered the question, but then thought better of it. "Just don't leave it on the bench. If someone wants to sit down, there will be a revolt."

It was the most I'd heard him say so far, so I took his advice. I lifted the stroller off of the bench, and he took my suitcase. He leaned it against a railing, and then turned to indicate Rory, face showing something that looked a little like disgust. "I also recommend you take _that_ with you."

Slightly offended by both the fact that he referred to my daughter as "that" and the idea that he even thought I'd consider leaving her in the gazebo, I unfolded Rory's stroller violently. Carefully, I picked up my sleeping daughter, blankets, sweater and all, and transferred her to the stroller. I turned to look at him pointedly, but he was gone.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Boys," I said aloud.

To my surprise, Rory giggled. Evidently, she was awake.

"Boys, right Rory?" She giggled again. "Ya don't need 'em," I told her. "Remember that when you're my age."

Carefully, I lifted the stroller down the stairs. I made up my mind to walk around the square in order to get to know my surroundings. I walked past an antique store, a collectable shop and a pizza parlor. I noted the name of the pizza parlor. Pete's Pizza. I was sure I'd use it at some point.

I wondered where I could get a cup of coffee. I'd been up late the night before packing, and so far it had been a fairly stressful day. I spotted a bakery beside another collectible shop. They would probably have coffee. I pushed the stroller into the building, and was greeted by an older woman at the counter.

"Good afternoon, ladies," she said, evidently meaning Rory and me. "What can I get for you today?"

"Just a coffee, please," I said.

The woman leaned over the counter to get a better look at Rory. "Isn't she just precious," she said. "Can I give her a cookie?" she wanted to know.

I smiled. "Sure."

"Is she your younger sister?" the woman asked me.

"Um…" I said, not completely sure how, or whether, to tell her the truth. I settled for bluntness. "No. She's my daughter."

"Oh," the lady said, as if it was of no consequence. She handed Rory a cookie. "Chocolate chip okay?"

I smiled. "She loves chocolate chip."

"Wonderful!" the woman said happily. She poured my coffee and set it on the counter. "Are you new in town?"

"We are. Just got here. Less than an hour ago, actually." I took the coffee. "Thanks. How much?"

"Oh, first time customers are on the house," she said with a smile. "Would you like a cookie?"

I had the distinct impression that she was patronizing me, but I really did want a cookie. "Sure," I said.

"Chocolate chip okay for you?"

"Excellent."

She handed me a cookie. "I'm Fran Weston, by the way," she said. "You can call me Fran."

"Thanks, Fran," I said. "I'm Lorelai Gilmore, and this is Rory. We have some more exploring to do, so if you don't mind…" I made a motion toward the door. Fran was a nice lady, but I had little interest in talking to her all day. Besides, I really did need to find a place to stay, at least for the night, before the day was out.

"Oh no, of course not," she said. "It was nice meeting you girls. Hope to see you again soon!"

I smiled at my daughter, happily eating her cookie. "I'm sure you will," I said. "I don't think Rory will let me forget where the lady with the cookies is." Fran smiled as we left the bakery.

As we walked, I noticed a grocery store, which I noted the location of, sure that it would come in handy later, a hardware store, which I immediately put out of my mind, positive I'd never need to know about it, and several more stores specializing in souvenirs and collectors' items. The town seemed exactly what I'd been looking for: completely unlike any place I'd ever been.

I came to a building that seemed separated from the rest of the square. It stood on its own, and had an air of importance about it. It was wood built with an old-fashioned vibe. As I neared it, I read the sign: Miss Patty's School of Ballet. A heavy-set woman stood in the doorway, seeming to alternate between instructing her class and talking with people who walked by.

As I walked by, she stopped me. "Are you new in town?" she wanted to know.

"I am," I told her. "Just got here today."

"Well, welcome to Stars Hollow, dear. I'm Patricia LaCosta. Most people call me Patty."

"Nice to meet you, Patty," I said. "I'm Lorelai Gilmore, and this is Rory."

"She's darling," Patty remarked. "Is she your sister?"

I wondered how many times I was going to have to answer that question. "She's my daughter," I said bluntly, and not without impatience. I was basically expecting to get just as much grief about being a teen mother in this tiny town as I had in my former life of constant judgment. I had taken to expecting hostility even when it wasn't presenting itself.

"Oh. Well, she's beautiful," she said earnestly.

"Thank you."

"Where are you staying?" Patty wanted to know.

"I, um… haven't worked that part out just yet," I admitted uneasily.

"The Independence Inn is down this road and two blocks to the left," she immediately directed me. "The owner's name is Mia. She'll be able to find a place for you, at least for tonight."

I smiled. "Thanks, Patty. I'll do that."

"Sure, darling." She turned back to her class. "Susie, you are a cloud, not a rock. Off the floor."

Patty seemed friendly, if quirky. So far, all of Stars Hollow seemed friendlier than I had anticipated. When I got to the inn Patty had told me about, I found that the owner was no exception. She gave me a room for the night, free of charge, offered me a job as a maid, and told me she'd do whatever she could to help me find a place to stay more permanently.

That night, I watched my daughter sleep in the comfort of the Inn's bedroom. Outside the window, the town was being slowly blanketed in snow. My mind replayed the encounters I'd had with the townspeople over the course of the day. I smiled. Stars Hollow. This was going to work.


	2. March 15, 1986

Chapter 2

March 15, 1986

"Luke, nails," I heard my father's voice call from across the crowded hardware store. It was the first warm Saturday afternoon of the year, and my father's store was experiencing a rush, a phenomenon that happened in the hardware business only a few times a year.

I handed a customer his screwdriver and took the money he handed me. "Luke, nails!" I took the money across the store to the cash register to make change. I pushed the cash register door closed none too gently, and heard the familiar crash of the change inside. "Luke!" I practically jogged back to the place where the man whose change I'd gathered was standing.

I pushed the man's change in front of him. "Have a nice day," I muttered without making eye contact.

"Hurry up, boy!"

I ran to the back storage room and picked up four boxes of nails. I hurried over to the counter where my father was standing with an impatient, red-faced customer. I slid the box off the top of the stack onto the counter in front of him and wordlessly stocked the other three boxes in their usual spot below the counter.

My father glanced at the small stack of nail boxes I'd stocked. "Three? We're gonna need more than that, we're packed today!"

Although my dad appeared stressed and impatient, I knew he wasn't. Days like these were what he lived for. He loved this store, and a good day for the store was a good day. I once again returned to the storage room for a pile of nail boxes, and this time took so many that I had to balance the stack with my chin.

"That's more like it," he said when I appeared once again at the counter. "Grab me another notepad, willya Luke? We're almost out of paper."

I once again returned to the stockroom, this time in search of a notepad. I looked on the right wall beside the bolts where there was usually a stack, but saw nothing. I searched the room for a good five minutes before I heard my father's call again. "Luke! Get out here!"

I gave up my search and jogged out to the store to see what my dad wanted. "Didya get that notepad?"

"I couldn't find one," I said apologetically. "I think we're out."

"Run over to Doose's and get one to hold us over."

"Yeah," I said, and headed to the door, anxious to escape the chaos. Before I got there, however, I passed Tom, the contractor that was one of our best customers. I waved a greeting, and he flagged me down.

"Hey, Luke!" he called over the three-foot space between us. Tom was the kind of person that was always shouting, even if you were right beside him. "Could you fill an order for me?"

"Actually, Tom, I was on the way to…"

"Great," he said, interrupting me. "I'm swamped today, kid. I appreciate your help. I'm gonna need two cratesa nails, a saw, two of those new hammers ya got last week, and three flathead screwdrivers."

I sighed. Better to fill the order now. I brought Tom his nails, which he passed off to a workman outside, and went back for the rest. I heard the phone ring, immediately followed by a "Luke! Paper!"

"I didn't get it!" I said apologetically, walking up to my father. "Tom's here, he had a big order and he was in a hurry. I had to fill it."

He looked at the saw in my hands, one of our more expensive models. "That for Tom?"

I nodded.

"Well then give it to him, for cryin' out loud!"

I hurried over to Tom and gave him the saw. "Thanks, kid," he said.

As I made my way back to the counter, I heard my dad answer the phone. "William's Hardware." I hoped it wasn't an order. "Okay, no problem," he said easily. "So that's… three hammers…"

It was an order. I cursed under my breath. I stood by in case I was needed for memory aid.

He dragged out his speech, trying to buy himself time. In one fluid motion, he grabbed a charcoal pencil, intended for marking wood, from the nearest shelf and lowered himself to a crouching position beside the counter. He scribbled the order on the counter below where the phone was so quickly that it was barely legible. I cringed. There was no way we were ever going to get that off.

Before another customer could distract me, I left the store in favor of Doose's. I wasn't going to let another order come in while we were paper-less.

I grabbed the first notepad I saw and got in line. I had hoped to be in and out of the store within minutes, but there was a girl in line in front of me that seemed hell bent on taking as long as possible to check out.

She looked to be about the same age as I was, but I didn't recognize her. That didn't, however, mean much of anything. Lately I had been unlikely to come in contact with anyone that wasn't at my school or a patron of the store, and she definitely wasn't the hardware store type. As much attention as I paid to the other students at my school, I wasn't even sure she didn't go there. The students at Stars Hollow High were, as a rule, a waste of breath, and I'd given up bothering to associate with them.

She was only checking out two bags of coffee, a large container of applesauce, a box of Mallomars and a coloring book, but somehow it was taking approximately three years.

"Isn't this the cutest coloring book?" she asked the sales boy, who couldn't have been less interested.

He nodded, his expression blank.

"Oh, shoot, do you have crayons? I think my daughter broke all of hers."

"Next to the coloring books," he said in a bored monotone.

"Hang on, I'll be right back," she promised.

When she walked away, I held up my notepad for the cashier to see. "This is all I have. Can you check it out while she gets that?"

"Sorry, I already started checking her out."

I sighed. Never underestimate the brain power of a Doose's Market cashier. "Fine, I'll wait."

The girl came back, crayons in hand. "Okay, here."

The cashier proceeded to ring up her now six items at what seemed like a snail's pace. When he had finally finished, she painstakingly counted out exact change.

The cashier took what seemed like ten years to count out the change she handed him. "I need ten cents more," he eventually told her.

Rather than handing over the dime, she argued. "No, I counted right."

"No you didn't. You gave me thirty-three cents. I need forty-three."

"I counted forty-three."

I could see that the cashier was about to count out the change in front of them, which would inevitably take the rest of my life, and I needed to get back to work. "Here!" I dropped a dime on the counter in front of the cashier. "Take the damn dime and ring me up, already. I'm in a hurry."

"Where could you possibly have to be?" the girl asked me rather rudely.

"Work."

"Oh," she said simply. She took her bags and left the store. As rude as she was, I couldn't help noticing how pretty she was.

As the cashier rang up my notebook, I put her out of my mind. I'd never see her again. "Dollar twenty-eight."

I handed him a five, and he gave me my change. I didn't count it, not because I trusted his math, but because I honestly didn't care if it was correct. A few cents didn't matter in the grand scheme of life.

I grabbed the notebook and headed back to the store. I handed my dad the notebook. "Thanks. What took you so long?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, you know. The usual incompetent Stars Hollow crowd."

"The cashier counted wrong again?"

"No, he told the girl in front of me that she counted wrong. They never actually determined whose fault it was. I gave the cashier the dime they were arguing about to save time."

He chuckled. "Smart move."  
"I thought so. You know that charcoal is never going to come out of the counter, right?"

He shrugged, a gleam in his eye. "We'll leave it there a while. Nobody'll see it. If they do, it'll make for interesting conversation."

I smiled. At that moment, somehow I knew the writing would always be there, and I'd always be there to see it.


End file.
